Page 81 of A Sky Painted Gold

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

September, 1929

It is four weeks later and Alice is helping me to pack up my bedroom. It turns out that Uncle Albie’s cousin knows someone who knows someone who is looking for a typist in London, and Mrs Bastion’s nephew’s wife’s friend has a room to let in a boarding house for young women. Much more importantly, the magazine that Robert encouraged me to write to have bought my story, and I will be writing monthly instalments for their readers. It will barely pay enough to keep me in typewriter ribbon, but I will be a real writer, and my words will be in print. The thought is electrifying. I sent off the pages the day that the Cardews left, in Robert’s envelope. It’s one final gift from a summer that has changed everything.

Once word gets out that I am moving to London “like one of them young, independent New Women”, everyone has an opinion. Fortunately for me, enough people enjoy running contrary to Aunt Irene that when she blows a gasket over me throwing away my virtue and good name, they rally around. I become something of a pet project for the village, and people are dropping in at all hours with strange and wonderful objects that they think I may need for the move. Mrs Penrith has just brought over four big bags of flour because she has heard that the cost of bread in London is absolutely criminal.

“You’ll never fit all of this lot in Gerald,” Alice says, surveying the mountains of stuff that surround us. My room looks like we are about to stage an enormous jumble sale.

“I know.” I sigh. “Still, I suppose I can leave some stuff behind… Freya will go mad, though, she’s so excited about having our old room. She’s not upset about me leaving at all.”

“Well, she’s the only one.” Alice slings an arm around my shoulder.

“Just think how much fun we’ll have when you come to visit me,” I say, resting my head on her shoulder. “I might actually know where I’m going by then. I can show you around.”

“As long as you know the way to all the good clothes shops we’ll be fine,” Alice says, moving away and grabbing another bucket, which she throws on to the “discard” pile.

“Why do you have so many buckets?” she asks.

“I have no idea,” I say, shaking my head. “People keep bringing them over. I dread to think what they’re for.”

There is a knock, and Pa sticks his head around the door. “How is it going, girls?”

Of all the surprising things that have happened lately, I have to say that my parents’ response to me wanting to move to London has been up there. I expected tears, hurt, anger. What I got was support.

“Of course you’re going to go,” Midge said placidly as I stood with my mouth hanging open.

“But … but…” I sputtered. “Don’t you want me to stay here and settle down and get married like Alice?”

Pa and Midge exchanged a look. “Why would we want you to do the same thing as Alice?” Midge asked, perplexed. “You two are as different as chalk and cheese and always have been.”

“Why do you think we gave you that typewriter?” Pa said. “Time for you to go and set the world alight, our girl.”

Of course I cried then. It seems the Cardew family don’t have the monopoly on misunderstanding each other.

Now, Pa is holding out a small parcel. “This came for you, Lou.” I take it, recognizing the messy handwriting on the front immediately. Alice catches the expression on my face and tugs Pa away by the elbow.

“OK, Pa,” she says. “Let’s go and have a look at the pile downstairs.” And she leads him out of the room, so that I am alone.

I sit on the bed and stare at the parcel for several minutes, wondering at what it might contain, and then, taking a deep breath, I tear it open. Inside is a letter.

Dearest, darling Lou,

I am writing this letter to you from the most terrible dive in Paris and I could not be any happier about it. Freddy is sitting across the table from me, and he says to send you his best love, although I told him that you would happily settle for second best, after me.

My darling friend, I am more sorry than you will ever know for how we parted that morning in Cornwall. What you said to me was right, but I was too afraid to hear it. I hope that one day you will be able to forgive me. I called it off with Charlie almost immediately, and I think the poor boy knew in the end that he had had a lucky escape!

Not long after we got back to London, Robert and I had the first completely frank conversation that we have had since our father died. He told me that he had filled you in on the grisly details and, darling, I am truly relieved that you know. Not sharing it with you myself was another mistake, but it seems that I am full of those. I have got some help now, and I am trying to do better about opening up. Robert and I were keeping far too much from one another, while trying to do what was best, and it was only because of you that we were able to untangle ourselves. For that, and for so many other things, I will always be grateful.

Of course, I should have had more faith in my brother. Freddy and I are together now, with his blessing. I think I would have gone with Freddy anyway – I hope I would have found the courage – but I have to admit that Robert’s support has lifted a heavy weight from me. It was Elodie who suggested Paris, and she was quite right. Freddy’s band have taken the city by storm, as you might expect. Things are so much easier for us here, and for the first time in such a long, long time I feel … free.

Robert and Laurie have called off their engagement. It happened two weeks ago, and I think they have managed to keep it out of the press so far. Robert has been so careful not to mention you that I know he has been thinking about you incessantly. Call it female intuition if you like, but I think you need to hear this: the two of you belong together.

We are selling the Cornwall house now. It is one of the only things I will miss, and much of that is down to you. Thank you for being there this summer; your friendship was truly a lifebelt that kept me from drowning. Every day I will be grateful that you climbed into our tree.

If you want to write back to me it would make me very happy, although I quite understand if you don’t. I would love to hear all of your news and how you are getting on. I miss you quite terribly.